


miso ramen for the soul

by blifuys



Category: Promare (2019)
Genre: Comfort Food, Domestic Fluff, Implied Relationships, Lio cooks, M/M, Post-Canon, They're already dating they just don't quite know it themselves yet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-23
Updated: 2020-04-23
Packaged: 2021-03-01 19:21:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,561
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23802283
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blifuys/pseuds/blifuys
Summary: After Aina tells him that homemade ramen tastes better than cup ramen, Lio tries his hand at making dinner for himself and Galo.
Relationships: Lio Fotia/Galo Thymos
Comments: 7
Kudos: 117





	miso ramen for the soul

**Author's Note:**

> my wonderful friends [Myo](https://twitter.com/beansproutlets) and [Yoonji](https://twitter.com/goguuma_) have successfully brought me into the paradise that is Promare, and hence i wanted to write some comfort fic because I felt like doing something fluffwee hee. 
> 
> Please check out my friends' art!! THEY ARE WONDERFUL ARTISTS AND I LOVE THEM VERY MUCH

Galo returns home to the smell of soy sauce and fried meat lingering in the air, soaking into the walls of their small apartment. 

His shoulders are weighed down a little heavier tonight, his tense muscles locking down as he drags his feet against the wooden floors. He’s unsure why he feels this way—too many thoughts clouding thought and sense as he thinks back on today’s events. Nothing and everything comes to mind, but reminiscing does not help. The dark, subdued feeling persists and grows in the chest, spreading through his limbs like a shadow. These days aren’t stranger to Galo—there are only evenings where he returns home to an empty home; nothing but the light of the city bouncing shapes off his walls ending the day off with him. 

_ I’m home _ , he used to say to no one in particular. His dinner presented itself to him in plastic bags, flavours chilled in the morning waiting to greet him in place of a hug, a voice, and scent. Galo Thymos is not a lonely man, but he’s always thrived in the sunlight where eyes are on him, where he is visible to all who choose to look at him. 

That’s why—despite having weeks to get used to it—Galo still finds himself shocked to come home to his house bright and warm and a small man making himself comfortable in his home;  _ their _ home. 

“Galo?” Lio says when he notices him walk through their front door, plastic bag dangling from his hand. “Well, don’t just stand there. Come in, I need you to try something for me.”

“Try?” Galo is confused, but compliant. His eyes scan the kitchen counters quickly as he tosses his small bag onto the sofa, noticing pots of liquid and raw ingredients lying about the place. “Did you cook something?”

“Aina said ramen tastes better when it’s fresh. I just wanted to give it a go.”

It’s only when Galo approaches that he notices it—Lio’s shirt has strange stains on the front, brownish spatters as if he had been splashed. His pale skin is dusted in flour, with a long stripe of white across his soft cheek. The scene is surprisingly familiar to Galo, reminding him much of team outings to Lucia’s favourite ramen place, of the masters that maneuver balls of dough effortlessly, as if they were cooking gods residing amongst mortals. 

But Lio does not carry the same air. 

Instead, Galo nearly laughs at how chaotic it all seems—there is a suspicious splatter of flour against their hardwood floor, soy sauce dripping off the side of the pot simmering on the stove; the sliced meat waiting pitifully on the cutting board, cuts in all directions but straight and forward. There is a strange oily film that clings to the soles of his feet, but Galo pays it no mind. Cleaning is easy, and he’ll simply work hard to clear it off later. 

No, the most important thing that Galo’s attention is directed to are the bowls of ramen sitting on their small round table, steam wafting off the surface of the soup telling of their recent completion. The smell is heavenly; his stomach rumbles and cries for food, and the convenience store bentos that sit in the plastic bag he holds are long forgotten. 

“Woah, these look  _ really _ good, Lio!” Galo cries, setting the bag on a clean spot on the counter, before rushing to take a seat at his table. A closer look at the bowls does not satisfy his growing hunger, not with the way the oil glistens under the warm ceiling light—perfect canvas framing imperfectly-cut slabs of thick meat, well-browned around the edges. His favourite runny eggs sit snugly against the wall of the porcelain bowl, the orange yolks smooth with the occasional cooked chunk floating in golden heaven. No matter how imperfect the food seems, Galo thinks he can feel the love emanating from it; it’s entirely clear to him that Lio’s spent a lot of time making two simple bowls for them.

“I—well, thanks, I guess.” Lio stutters. As if to redirect Galo’s imminent flood of praises from him to the food, the small man slides a pair of chopsticks along the wooden finish of their table, silent calls for him to go ahead and  _ eat already _ . “Here. Have a bite and let me know how it goes, I didn’t really taste anything while I was making it.” 

While Lio takes a seat in front of him, Galo’s already reaching out for the chopsticks, fitting them snugly between his fingers as he makes a move to grab for noodle. He’s waited quite long for dinner; having missed out on lunch and a snack for a sudden call for Burning Rescue to take action. The fires took ages to put out, and by the time embers were replaced with soot mixing with ashes and smoke, the sun’s long set beyond the edge of the horizon—ending their day off with the wail of the siren and red and blue flashing lights all the way back to the Promepolis Fire Station. 

The noodles curl under the pinch of his chopsticks, savoury salty aroma attacking his nostrils. He feels the need to savour it for a moment because this is  _ Lio’s  _ cooking, it’s  _ Lio _ that made this for him. They’ve come a long way since multicoloured flames sprung up through the city’s streets. The time he’s spent with Lio so far only makes him feel like he’s finally found a home, one that welcomes him every night with something new, and greets him good morning while curled in the thick sheets of his bed. 

“God,” Galo sniffles a bit as he grins, blinking away something stinging in his eyes. “I think you might have a natural talent for cooking, Lio.” 

“You haven’t even tried it yet.” Lio points out, levelling his chopsticks against the table as he looks at him, eyebrow quirked up in confusion.

“Ah, s-sorry. Got a little emotional there.” 

Galo pulls the noodles into his mouth, savouring the texture on his tongue for a moment. There’s a firm chew to it, the taste of the soup clinging off the noodles mixing in his mouth to give a delicious experience. Sure, it’s nothing compared to what chefs trained all their lives to make, but Galo thinks he likes Lio’s ramen more. It has everything he’s wanted; home, love, acceptance, and dedication in a bowl. It warms his heart like a flame on a rainy day. Galo doesn’t think for a second to put his utensils down; mouthful after mouthful he eats, appreciating each bite to its last. 

“So? How is it?” Lio asks him, his own hand readying for him to take his first bite, but his face is curled in worry. The subtle pinch of his brows and the downturn of his lips speaks paragraphs to Galo about Lio’s state of mind, but the boisterous man knows his worries are for naught. Galo places the bowl down with a resounding bang, the soup splashing against the walls of his bowl for a moment as his lips pull up in a curve, revealing a toothy grin. 

“Delicious!” He yells, fast enough for him to go back to eating; filling his stomach and heart with food. 

There is a saying that Galo remembers, something about family not being about blood-ties and the like. He cannot remember it in full, but his feelings are somewhat the same. He thinks that Lio might feel the same way too, he  _ hopes  _ he does. Galo wouldn’t trade their nights for anything, not for the world, not for any shiny medal or prestige that would present itself on a pedestal—his award looks like his evenings home, a small man curled up against his side with the smell of food wafting through the air, trying to hide a smile in the noodles he slurps into his mouth. 

In an apartment tucked away in the heart of Promepolis; Galo listens to the sound of cars speeding on the street under his home, the sound of life all around him reminding him that he is not alone. He watches Lio slurp his noodles with the subtle signs of contentment on his face; his brows and eyes are relaxed—a look that Galo wouldn’t have thought he would ever witness a few weeks ago. 

“Aina’s right. Ramen is pretty good when it’s fresh.” Lio says, pulling a hand up to swipe at his mouth after he finishes downing the soup, leaving a pristine bowl on the table beside Galo’s—long gone cold as he waited for his companion. 

“She is! Next time, I’ll bring you to a shop that has really good ramen! My treat!” Galo chortles in excitement, reaching his hand to wrap itself around Lio’s smaller hand, pulling it closer. It’s something he finds himself doing more and more as of late; a day without physical contact with Lio is not a day at all. The way Lio’s lips quirk up gently encourages him, something burning in his heart; like warm soup in his stomach on a cold winter’s day.

“Sounds great. Let’s do that.” Lio replies, spreading his hand out to loosen Galo’s grip, before he slides his fingers in the gaps of Galo’s, squeezing silent encouragement into his partner.

**Author's Note:**

> [come and talk to me on twitter!](https://twitter.com/blifuys)


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